


let them talk

by SmilinStar



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, timecanaryweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 10:52:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11599131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: “Leaving so soon? You didn’t even dance.”The voice catches him unaware. Female, teasing, inappropriately familiar and decidedlynot British.





	let them talk

 

 

:::::

 

He breathes out heavy in the brief moment of quiet. The sound settling like dirt and sand sinking to the sea bed. Unseen. Unheard. The deep sigh is familiar. It is the only noise which leaves his lips these days, excepting the occasional ‘good day’ that is forced from him when out in polite society. He usually manages to excuse himself from further conversation by feigning the need to attend to some errand of grave and urgent attention. He never tarries to see if it causes offence. He does not have it in him to care. Not anymore.

In any case, his tried and tested means of avoiding unwanted small talk, have yet to fail him.

This blasted ball, however, is the first black mark against it.

He had tried. Oh, how he had tried! But his good friend Martin would not hear of it and had forced him here through guilt of his own impending departure with the fleet, and “besides,” he had said, “you’re still young yet, Captain Hunter. We may find you another bride! Any young woman would be thrilled to find themselves wedded to a young strapping, naval officer, such as yourself.”

Young, he may be. Strapping, he thinks is a rather erroneous description.

What he is, is a miserable, mourning widower, who has no interest in finding a wife. And he certainly has no time for music, and dancing, and frivolous conversation.

Nevertheless, he attends.

Though he opts to stand sulking in the corner of the ballroom, and makes no more effort than that to enjoy himself.

The modestly sized orchestra soon sets upon another piece, and the dancing begins anew with shameless vigour. There’s clapping, and stomping, laughter ringing around the room, all of which pounds mercilessly against his eardrums and he wants nothing more than for it to stop.

And then it does.

In the most surprising of ways. A moment. Barely a few seconds. And he would later look back on it in confusion and derision, a fanciful moment conjured up purely by his bored and addled imagination, surely.

Startling blue eyes meet his across the expanse of the ballroom, and time seems to stop as the ringing in his ears halts to silence.

The objectively pretty face is framed by curls of blonde hair; her eyes all the more alarming offset as they are by the dark blue of her dress, and a twinkle that surely cannot be aimed in his direction.

And then of all things, the young lady, does something entirely unexpected and rather preposterous. 

_She sticks out her tongue._

_At him._

“Well, I never,” he mutters under his breath, eyes widening.

A nearby young member of the gentry hears him, turns in his direction, misunderstanding the words as being meant for him. The Captain raises his hand in apology, and turns quickly back in the direction of the young woman, searching again for that deep blue that had him so unwillingly mesmerised.

She is nowhere to be found.

And he wonders if he really has turned mad.

Grief, it was said, was a sure way to rob a man of his wits. And his are all but gone now as he believes himself to be seeing things that are simply not there.

He takes a breath, shakes his head and resets his mind.

He has had more than enough of this revelry now, and it would seem more than his fair share of wine. He has done his duty as a friend, and so he sees no shame in making to leave.

Winding his way through the crowds, he heads for the front door, tipping his head at the footmen stationed there as he steals away into the night.

“Shall I call for a carriage, Sir?” they call after him.

“No, gentlemen, thank you, that won’t be necessary.”

It is not a cold night despite the cloudless sky. And with his lodging not a long distance away, it feels right to walk the short route. If anything, the fresh air should help clear his mind.

“Leaving so soon? You didn’t even dance.”

The voice catches him unaware. Female, teasing, inappropriately familiar and decidedly _not British._

He knows who it is instantly. He has heard of the young woman, here from the Americas, fleeing a past she does not speak of, unbecomingly bold and brash and corrupting the town girls with her ways. He doesn’t have to turn around to put a face to the voice, because who else could it be but the woman who had thought it acceptable to stick out her tongue at a man she has never met?

“Miss Lance,” he says, finally spinning to face her, watching as she grins wide, teeth unabashedly on display, leaning carelessly into one of the no doubt painstakingly maintained hedges of Stein’s estate.

“I guess my reputation precedes me, if you already know who I am, Mister. . . ?”

“Captain. Captain Hunter,” he corrects her instinctively, before realising she means to pull him into conversation, and that just won’t do. And so he tips his head in her direction, bowing slightly, before straightening up and making his customary excuses. “I apologise Miss, but I really must be on my way. Can I call for your carriage before I leave?”

Extraordinarily, the lady’s face blushes red at the question, and only with her sharp tongue does he realise he’s angered her. “ _Carriage_? I don’t need a carriage. Ladies are just as capable of walking or riding. We are not as weak a sex as you all seem to presume us to be!”

He splutters, struck incomprehensible by the turn in the conversation and offence he has unwittingly caused. “Pardon me, I did not mean anything by it.”

She widens her eyes, twinkling bright in the moonlight, full of mischief he realises then with a sinking feeling as her lips crack open in a laugh. Her words had been nothing more than that of an actress.

“You’re not one for jokes are you, Captain?”

“Only those that are funny,” he snaps back without thinking.

But she doesn’t mind in the least. In fact, his response seems to please her, as she grins that same grin again and steps forward towards him, threading her arm through his. He drops his gaze to their interlocked limbs and back up at her face.

“Well, as you seem so determined to escape, you wouldn’t mind walking me home, would you?”

He shakes his head, and manages to reply, “I hardly think it’s _proper_.”

“Why?” she frowns. “Do you intend to dishonour me? Ravish me along the away? Have I got you all wrong, Captain? Are you a really a swine in uniform?”

“No, good heavens no!” he chokes on his horror, turning a bright red, he’s certain. He shakes his head once more, and tries to explain with a calm breath. “People talk, Miss Lance.”

“Do they?” she says in a manner that speaks to her knowing that she is indeed the frequent topic of town gossip, and by her expression, she cares not in the slightest.

If anything, he feels jealous. Jealous that she is not so restricted by other’s thoughts, that she does not have duty hanging around her neck. It feels much too close to a hangman’s noose these days.

“Well, let them talk. I am quite capable of looking after myself, I assure you. And in any case, you seem a good man, Captain Hunter.”

He shakes his head ever so slightly, but nothing escapes the young woman.

“You disagree?”

“Yes, no. I mean . . .” he breathes in and out, “you do not know me.”

“No,” she tips her head, watching him closely, “no, but I see a good man, one who seems chased by tragedy, and haunted by ghosts.”

And for the briefest of moments, the light in her eyes dim, and he wonders if she speaks of herself.

In any case it appears Miss Lance will not be swayed, and so he breathes out, and reluctantly agrees with a sigh, “very well. You will have to direct me.”

She presses into his shoulder and her smile is bright once again.

They fall into an easy stroll, and he keeps his mind resolutely on the path they take and not the company he keeps. Although she does endeavour to make that as difficult as she possibly can. Miss Sara Lance is chatty enough for the both of them, and despite himself, he finds himself listening to her stories, smiling in places, and not even realising.

Before he knows it, they arrive on her doorstop. She stops at the threshold and stares up at him with those eyes that had him so mesmerised the very first time he set upon them.

“That’s better,” she says.

“What’s better?”

“You should smile more Captain, it suits you better than that frown you’ve been wearing all evening, and I suspect for the whole of the year.”

He stares back at her surprised. “Is that why you sought me out, Miss Lance? You thought me a challenge?”

The smile she gives him tells him as much, but there is a kindness there amongst the teasing and once again he thinks of tragedy and ghosts, and feels an unexpected kinship. He’s beginning to suspect that’s what led her to him in the first place.

“Believe what you will, Captain,” she simply says. “Good night.”

This time she leaves him with a wink.

And this time there is no shock. No reproach. _No._

No, this time, he laughs.

_“Good night, Miss Lance.”_

 

**End.**

 

 


End file.
